Change of Plans
by draxisthename
Summary: All the Doctor wanted to do was show Clara around Beaumonde; all Malcolm Reynolds wanted to do was finish an important job. However, when Alliance soldiers show up, plans are changed, and Mal takes Clara hostage. The Doctor reluctantly teams up with the Alliance, who've compounded his TARDIS, to find Mal and his crew. Both are ready to do anything to protect what they care about.
1. Chapter 1

Beaumonde. A planet that smelled mainly of dirt, sweat, pollutants, and what the residents claimed was some kind of Kentucky bourbon. Still, it was a beautifully terraformed planet, and the Doctor thought that Clara should see where the human race would be years upon years from her time, and how they would develop. Clara didn't seem interested.

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed at the air. "What's that?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. "Something smells like manure."

"Ah, yes." The Doctor rubbed his hands together and breathed in the stench. "That would be the manure."

Clara turned and looked at him, her eyebrows inching together over that funny nose of hers. She was quite shorter than him and had to tilt her head up slightly to look him in the eye. Brown hair fell neatly around her shoulders, held back by a couple of hair pins. Her green tea-dress was hardly suitable for the area that they were going through. Perhaps that was his fault though. She seemed to have thought that they were going to some futuristic French Quarter type of town, not a terraformed outer planet. Her shoes, which only minutes earlier had been shiny black, were now caked with mud and dust.

"Why do we have manure in the future? Hasn't anyone figured that out yet?"

The Doctor gently poked her forehead with his index finger. "Yes, Clara, of course the human race has figured out how to prevent animals from doing what they do naturally."

She stopped walking and jabbed her finger at his chest. "There's no reason to be rude. I was asking a question. Not everybody's been to Beyo- Bee- Bao..."

"Beaumonde," he said.

"Yes. This place." She lifted one side of her lips into a lopsided smile. "It is pretty cool though. Sort of like a whole wild west thing in the future." Her eyes flitted among the wooden shops, spaced right next to each other so that the only way to tell which ones were separate were by the faded paint jobs. "Have you ever been to the wild west before, Doctor?"

The question caught him by surprise and he immediately thought back to his time with Amy and Rory in Mercy. "Yes," he said. "A few times."

"What's it like? Is it like what's on telly with the cowboys and Indians running around everywhere shooting each other?"

The Doctor gave a sad smile and ruffled her hair. "Yes. Something like that."

A roaring noise flooded through the streets as a ship, something out of date, if he had landed in the year he thought he had, came into view, speeding down at a reckless pace. Clara grabbed the Doctor's coat sleeve and he threw his other arm above his eyes to cover the blazing light from the ships rear turbo. A Firefly? Who drove a Firefly still? He paused and straightened his bow tie; then again, that was coming from a man who had stolen a Type 40 TARDIS. Older was not always a bad thing. Except sometimes, when you wanted a half-decent navigation system.

"What's that?" Clara yelled over the din of the ship. He barely heard her above all the noise, and motioned to a small shop, most likely some sort of tourist trap, though he didn't expect that Beaumonde had an excessive amount of tourists.

The pair hurried across the dirt road and mounted the steps two at a time, before entering the store through a flimsy white door with a dirty window.

The interior was as the Doctor had expected. Wood walls, wood floors, and wood shelves stocked with both supplies and odds and ends. There were a couple of displays filled with hand painted china, most likely done by a local artist. Rows of empty shelves lined one wall with a crumpled paper sign that read "Awaiting Shipment."

With the sound of the Firefly reduced to a dull roar, the Doctor finally managed to answer Clara's question.

"It's a ship. How they transport supplies and how people get around. That one up there's called a Firefly. It's complicated to explain..."

"So, it's sort of like boats, or the metro?"

He paused, considering the comparison. "Yes, sort of, I suppose. Think a boat that rents out spaces like a flat. Actually, forget that, it's not like that."

"What do you think that one's here for?" asked Clara.

The Doctor shrugged, then a grin lit up his face like a Christmas tree. "Would you like to find out?"

"Strange flying ship on a planet in the future?" She leaned close and smirked. "I don't even know why you bother taking the time to ask."

"Is that a no?" he asked.

She gave his arm a light punch. "It's a yes, silly. Come on! First bit of real action in this place. Let's go see!"

* * *

Malcolm Reynolds walked down the ramp, fifty pound sack of flour over his shoulder. He reached the ground, a sight he hadn't seen in well over two weeks and dropped the sack, wiping the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Mal leaned down and scooped up a handful of dirt, letting it sift through his fingers. First glimpse of Beaumonde seemed a right sorry sight from the landing position Wash had picked out. Town they were next to looked just about as near to a ghost town as there was, quite a change from the other, high profit factory areas in the cities.

"Come on," he said, glancing over his shoulders at the others. Each crew member on Serenity had hefted their own sacks of flour and were making their way down the ramp. Even the Doc had lowered himself to labor along with a bag. Mal found Doc's struggling a bit more amusing than he should have and couldn't help but give an involuntary snort.

River kept, for the most part, near the entrance of the ship, occasionally migrating to the opposite side as she scrutinized each of them with those big brown eyes of hers. Mal shuddered; sometimes, that girl just gave him the creeps. "What're you doing? Supervising us? How d'you think we're doing?" Mal asked, taking the edge off the unease with a playful jab at the girl.

"I've seen turtles move faster," she said quietly. She formed an imaginary turtle with her hands, petting the air and mumbling incoherently to herself.

Simon looked anxiously behind him, sweat plastering his shirt to his arms, arms that had clearly not seen much work outside of the field of medicine.

Inara appeared behind the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder and murmuring something in her ear that seemed to distract her from the imaginary turtle petting. "I'll take care of her, Simon. Don't worry."

"Thank you," he said, giving a smile that betrayed every single ounce of worrying the city boy planned on doing anyways.

"Come on," Mal repeated. "We don't got all day. Where the heck is Jayne?"

"Right here, Cap'n," he said, jumping down from the top of the ramp. The man was armed to the teeth; grenades strapped to his legs, knives on his arms, a couple pistols on his belt, and two massive guns at his back.

Mal raised an eyebrow at the Rambo-like get up and glanced at Zoe, who shrugged, though he could see the smile sneaking onto her lips. Kaylee was nowhere near as good as hiding her humor and was giggling into the crook of her elbow to mask the grin.

"What the blazes are you wearing, Jayne?"

Jayne lifted his arms, revealing a set of throwing knives on the torso of his shirt. "Weapons," he said. "Figured we might need 'em."

"We're delivering flour, not an arsenal," he said.

The other man furrowed his eyebrows. "I could put the pistols back?" he suggested.

"Nah, keep the pistols." Mal shouldered the bag of flour again. "Put everything else back."

"Even the grenades?"

"Even the grenades."

"But we might need the grenades," said Jayne.

"I think he looks cute," said Kaylee, earning herself a death glare from Jayne.

The captain waved one hand in dismissal. "Fine, keep one grenade. Kaylee thinks it makes you look pretty."

Jayne grunted and pulled himself back onto the ramp before disappearing inside the ship.

Mal glanced heavenward. "Honestly, who knows what goes through his mind." He sighed, inhaling a deep breath of clean, earthy smelling air. "Let's go. I don't want to be here long. 'Sides, Inara's got an appointment on Ariel."

"What about Jayne?"

"He'll catch up. Let's go."

The group trudged along through long, yet fairly sparse grass, the heat of the sun beat down on their back until all their clothes were soaked through. Jayne had caught up with them a few minutes after Mal had sent him back to change. He had the weapons Mal had let him keep, as well as the throwing knives on his chest. Mal pretended not to notice, seeing how the man, trying to show off, had made the foolish mistake of grabbing three bags instead of one and was now doing right about as bad as the Doc.

Kaylee staggered behind the captain, and Mal turned around, taking her bag and heaving it on top of his. The exhausted mechanic dusted off her flour coated hands on the hem of her qipow.

"I could've taken it, Cap."

Mal grimaced under the doubled weight of his load. "I know, Kaylee. That's why I took it. Couldn't have you showing us up, now could I?"

Kaylee beamed. "No, Cap, don't believe you could've."

A man carrying a purple waistcoat on one arm, and supporting a young woman in a green dress on the other appeared on the heat dappled plain ahead of them. Mal instinctively dropped both flour sacks and had his gun leveled at them in the time it took most men to blink.

The man stepped calmly in front of the girl and stared unblinking at Mal. "Are you going to shoot us?" asked the man; he had an accent that was difficult to place, quite similar to ones he had encountered on Persephone. "Two unarmed travelers. What are you? Coward or criminal?"

Mal cocked the gun, but the man remained unfazed. He sighed and returned the pistol to his belt. "What are two unarmed travelers doing in a place like this?" Mal asked.

"Traveling," said the woman in green, poking her head out from behind the taller man and stepping around him. She had a lilting voice, with a similar accent as the man, but different somehow. There was something in the voice that Mal expected only someone with the accent could place.

"Spunky," Mal remarked to Jayne.

"That a problem, Mal?" he asked, already reaching for his single grenade.

Mal shook his head. "Leave 'em alone. We stick to the plan. I'm not gonna lose all my business on Beaumonde over a couple of travelers."

"Look at their clothes though," said Jayne.

"They've got to be Alliance," Zoe agreed.

"All the more reason to leave 'em alone. Let's get our goods in place, get our payment and get out quick as you like so Kaylee can get those parts to fix the mule. I don't want to get stuck with transporting these goods by hand again."

"Yeah, couldn't you have parked a bit closer, Wash?"

"Depends," said the pilot. "Did you want there to be a town left to pay you after we got the goods there."

"Barbecued people don't pay very well," said Mal. "We just gotta make do with what we've got."

"Well, what we've got is a bunch of these dang bags of flour."

"Yeah," said Mal. "So pick 'em up and start making do." He turned to the pair of travelers. "You stay out of our way and we'll stay out of yours. We don't need no sightseers breathing down our necks. Ship's full and we don't do rides."


	2. Chapter 2

Clara and the Doctor trekked back towards the town, which was about a rough quarter of a mile away. The sun was hot and the Doctor gave himself a light scolding for thinking about the impracticality of Clara's outfit when he himself had gone out in a pair of trousers and a fairly heavy waist coat. At least Clara had thought somewhat ahead and had worn short sleeves.

"Why were they so cross?" asked Clara, glancing over her shoulder at the group, moving along far slower than them as they labored under some sort of heavy load.

The Doctor withdrew a small metal tube from the inside of his coat. The tube extended both direction, expanding until it was a miniature spyglass. Clara just shook her head; the Doctor kept the craziest things in his coat.

Lifting the spyglass to his eye, he scanned the group. There was a young woman, face smeared with oil and dirt, wearing a short qipao and a pair of jean capris. Close behind her was the man who had spoken to them, the Doctor assumed he was the leader of the group. Off to the side of him was a woman with curly brown hair and dark skin; she had a gun strapped to her waist and, by the way she carried her load with more ease than the others, the Doctor guessed that she had been a soldier or mercenary of some sort. Ver_y_ close behind her, there was a pale man with blonde hair, walking as briskly as he stared at her... The Doctor looked away from them.

Off near the end was a man in much nicer clothes than the rest. His hair was done well, and he would have looked quite dignified, had he not been thoroughly soaked with sweat. Behind him was a man with short brown hair who glanced over from time to time, as if checking to make sure the other man didn't run off.

None of these people struck the Doctor with a reason as to why they seemed to take issue with him and Clara. Then he saw something else, an object that revealed more about them than the appearances of any in the group. On the top of the leader's sacks was draped a brown coat.

"They're Independents, Brown Coats."

Clara cocked her head to the side and looked up at him. "And how exactly does that tell me anything?"

The Doctor closed up the spyglass and stuck it back in his coat. "There was a war on these planets. Among them, I suppose is a better term. The Brown Coats were rebels against the Alliance."

"Which is?" Clara pressed.

"The Central Planets. The richer people. They wanted to civilize the outer planets, bring resources and order. The outer planets wanted their own government. They probably assume we're with them. Perhaps they have an old grudge."

Clara was silent for awhile and they walked along with only the noise of the sand crunching at their feet for several minutes. Finally, Clara asked the question that was on her mind.

"Which side was right?"

The Doctor paused, as if mulling the question over. After a long time in deliberation, he began walking again without giving an answer.

"Doctor?" Clara persisted.

A heavy sigh. "I don't know."

Clara ran to catch up with him. "How can you not know? Don't you have a side you agree with? One of them had to be in the wrong. Which one was it?"

The Doctor stopped and turned, placing each of his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes with his own, big, sad hazel ones. "All of time and space, so many different choices, different options, different bends and focal points that can change all of history... You learn, after awhile, that sometimes there isn't a right side, Clara. Sometimes they're both wrong, sometimes they're both right; so often it's not so black and white that you can tell who was correct in their beliefs. One of the many risks in time travels is tipping that scale towards the side that you favor. I know, I've done that so many times. Sometimes you can't, though." He kissed the top of her head and smiled. "Besides, who am I to make all of humanity's decisions for them? I'm not a god, Clara. Bad things happen when I pretend to be one."

"Then what are you?" she asked.

His smile broadened to a grin. "I suppose, at the end of all things, I'm just a madman. A madman with a blue box."

* * *

"C'mon," said Mal. "It's not much farther now."

He glanced back at the city boy, way at the back with Jayne. Both of them were sweating like there was no tomorrow. Served Jayne right. As for the doc, it was just amusing.

Ten minutes later, they reached the outskirts of town. Mal propped his and Kaylee's bags up against the first available building before leaning against it himself. The passersby eyed him oddly, they probably didn't get many visitors way out in this area. Too secluded. Travelers went to the main cities, only smugglers and wannabe adventurers came to the edge towns like this one. One look at his gun and his coat and they knew which one he was and went along, back on their merry little way.

The rest of the group came up behind him, dropping their bags and stopping for some much needed rest. All but Kaylee, who bounded cheerfully along, most likely looking to see whether or not they sold any engine parts in the town.

Mal pointed ahead to a small building with a white door. "That's the store there, right close to the middle of town. You're lucky, Zoe. If it was on the other side I was going to have to shoot your purty little husband there."

"After all this walking, I might've just had to help you, sir."

Wash looked dejected. "I'm insulted, Zoe. I need a make-up kiss." He pursed his lips and Zoe laughed before giving him a kiss.

Jayne waved his hand. "Me too," he shouted.

Zoe just pointed to the gun at her belt.

"Okay, enough of that. Let's get these in, then find some recruits to help with the rest." He shouldered his sacks and marched off towards the shop.

The shop owner came out and held the door open. Mal entered the shop and walked over to a row of empty shelves. He put the bags of flour on the top shelf and removed a sign that was tacked up to the shelf.

"Delivery's here, sir. My crew'll load up the stuff we've got, then we'll be needing some men to unload the rest. Know anyplace we could find some recruits?"

"There's a tavern down the road. You could check there."

"Sounds like a plan, thanks for the business sir."

The shop owner dropped a sack of coins in Mal's hand. "There's half. You'll get the rest when I've got all the flour on those shelves."

* * *

"We're going to the tavern for recruits?" Jayne looked downright excited. "Give me some money. I'm gonna go get me some of that bourbon these folks're so proud of."

Mal tossed a couple of coins in his direction.

The man seemed disappointed with the amount. "This'll buy me a couple of shots. I was hoping for one of the manly cups, not the little dinky ones, Mal."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna need you sober for carrying the rest of those sacks of flour."

Jayne scowled but seemed to know better than to argue.

The entire crew, including Kaylee, who had rejoined the group after discovering that there really wasn't much else in the town in the way of parts except for some odds and ends for fixing plows and such, walked through the swinging doors of the bar. The place smelled strongly of that bourbon Jayne wanted so badly, and also the smell of that bourbon regurgitated. That, mixed with the smell of sweat and dirt, gave off the smell that filled nearly every tavern in the outer planets.

At the bar was the man in the purple waistcoat and the girl he had been with. Several men crowded around him, trying to force a flagon of some alcoholic cocktail down his throat, despite the man's protestations that he didn't drink. The girl looked amused, watching the whole thing with a smirk on her tanned face.

Mal grabbed Simon by the shoulders as he came in and turned him to face a corner.

"Listen, if them folks is Alliance, I don't want 'em seeing you. I don't need them putting up a fuss and us all landing in prison. I want to finish this job and get out of here, so you stay back in that there corner, muss your hair up a bit and try to fit in." Mal grabbed someone's drink from the counter and poured it over Simon's head.

The doc spluttered. "What was that for?"

"That'll help with the smell."

"The smell of what? I'm the only one on the ship that bothers to use soap."

Mal blinked. "Exactly. Now, go over there and stay there 'til we've got to go."

Mal left Simon there and walked back over to the bar. He slid into one of the chairs and ordered himself a shot of bourbon. Looking to his left, he saw that the group surrounding the Alliance boy had been at least somewhat successful. The man was grimacing like they'd made him eat a bug, and wiping his tongue with his hand, as if trying to get the taste off.

The girl beside the man tapped his shoulder and pointed to Mal. The man turned and smiled at Mal. Mal turned back to his drink. He didn't need to be getting friendly with Alliance citizens. Didn't need to be downright rude to them, but hopefully they'd be taking a hint.

Unfortunately for Mal, they both came over to introduce themselves.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor, this is Clara. What's your name?"

"Malcolm Reynolds," Mal muttered into his glass.

The doors swung open and a new man walked in with a decent sized posse. If the outfits the pair, that doctor and the girl named Clara, wore yelled Alliance; the uniforms that this next bunch wore downright screamed it. Mal shifted uneasily in his seat as the Doctor continued yammering in his ear. The Alliance soldiers went up to Jayne and started talking. Mal's hand shifted to his gun and he watched them carefully.

Jayne's tongue was bound to get a little loose after a couple shots of Kentucky Bourbon and, sure enough, there were a few stares aimed in his direction.

The leader of the group walked up to Mal and Mal set his glass back on the counter. Even the Doctor stopped his talking at the sight of the Alliance man, who looked pretty high ranking.

"Can I see your papers of authorization?" the man asked.

"You got it," said Mal, turning to get the nonexistent papers. He lifted a foot and slammed it into the man's chest, then grabbed a fistful of Clara's hair and pulled her towards him, lifting a gun to her head.

"Sorry about this, sweetheart," he said quietly, then cocked the gun. In a louder voice, he announced, "Right, my crew, with me. You Alliance, follow us and I'm gonna have to do something a mite unsavory, if you read me."

The Doctor maintained his distance, but his eyes revealed desperation. "Please," he said, " Don't do this."

Mal ignored him and moved to the door.

Simon stood up. "Is it time to go, Captain?"

"Shuddup," he muttered. "Let's clear out."


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor was shell shocked. He'd lost her again. She'd died twice to save him and he had only managed to start on returning the favor. Was he doomed to be witness to Clara's death over and over again. Seeing her, with her brown hair and her silly nose, her spunky personality catching his eye and drawing him to her. He'd find companionship, a friend, and then she'd be callously wrenched from him again over and over and over. There were few things that the Doctor didn't understand; Clara Oswald was one of those things.

He was currently seated at a metal table in a room with a light of some sort of blueish hue illuminating the area. An officer in a uniform with a starched collar that looked bothersome to him sat across from the Doctor, trying in vain to get him to answer the questions presented to him. The Doctor couldn't help it that the man didn't didn't have the time to go into detail. Somewhere, out in the "'verse", as the locals so referred to it, was Clara. She was alone with a band of ruffians. A damsel in distress. It was his job to save people and he'd already failed to save her twice, no, three times now. The other two times she had died. He wouldn't allow the same fate to befall her again.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you again. You're being quite cryptic. Where did you know this girl from?"

His eyes flitted around the room. This man had already asked this same question five times; they were wasting time. "I told you. We travel together."

"Sir, could you be a bit more precise?"

"Don't call me 'sir'," he said. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood, beginning to pace. At least with pacing he was doing something that felt half productive instead of waiting until those thugs killed Clara. "I pick her up on Wednesdays and we travel. How precise do you want?"

"How do you travel? Do you rent a ship? Do you have your own? How did you meet this girl? We want specifics."

"I cant give you specifics!" he was practically yelling now. They had his TARDIS. His only chance of saving Clara and they'd locked it up in some storage hold. "I travel in a ship, _my_ ship. My ship that I need now or she's going to die again."

The man's eyebrows shot up. "Again?"

The Doctor shot him a withering glance. "I can't explain, I really can't. You've got to let me off this little ship of yours, give me my things back and let me try to find her. If anyone has even the slightest chance of finding her..."

"You haven't even told us who she is!" The guard slammed his hands on the table and rose to his feet suddenly, knocking his chair to the floor. "Who is this girl anyways? Why are you avoiding the question?"

He turned and threw his hands in the air. "Because I don't know!" he blurted. A stunned silence followed and he sighed. He'd might as well continue. "I see her all the time and I look at her and I don't know who she is or what she is or why she's with me. I don't know what's going on. I don't know why I keep finding her again, and I don't know why she keeps dying. I don't know if she's a trick or maybe a dream; maybe she's a nightmare. I just don't know." He rested his head in his hands. "This is hopeless. Unless you let me find her she's going to die. I can't... Not again. I'm not going to lose her again. Not this time."

The officer sat in silence and neither of them said a word for a minute or two. Finally, the man raised his voice in what was almost a whisper. "Who is she?"

The Doctor gave him a sidelong glance and sighed before returning his gaze to the wall. "She's Clara Oswald. The Impossible Girl."

"And who are _you?_"

"I'm the Doctor. I'm the one person who might be able to find her."

"Then help us," the man's voice had softened. "We're locating them- we're trying to, at least. Something tells me you know quite a bit. You could help us find them. We catch the crooks, you get the girl back."

He turned from the wall and walked back to the table where the officer stood. He stared at the man for a moment, sizing him up. Red hair, a ginger. Under normal circumstances the Doctor would have been jealous, but under the current situation, he simply took it in. He was broad shouldered, not quite muscular, but not fat either; his uniform didn't seem to fit all too well. Green eyes glinted determinedly under the mop of hair. This was a young man who still held the naive idea in his head that he could save the world. Just the type the Doctor liked.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

"Lieutenant Matthew Ryan, sir," the man responded.

"Lieutenant Matthew Ryan..." the Doctor repeated. He paused, considering Matthew's suggestion. If it was the only way to find Clara, did he have a choice? He sighed again and set his hands on the table's metal surface and gave the lieutenant a smile, albeit a somewhat forced one. "You have yourself a deal."

* * *

After reaching Serenity, Mal had set the girl down in the middle of the cargo bay. He had acted in a rush and he wasn't entirely sure he necessarily liked the route he'd taken. Taking a hostage had gotten him out of a tight space, but it had also landed him in another one. What was he supposed to do with the girl. Jayne had simply loads of ideas; ideas Mal told him that he'd shoot him for if he continued to speak them out loud.

The girl was trying to maintain a sarcastic tone that related the entire situation more to something like a naughty eight year old fooling around than a smuggler abducting her and putting a gun to her head. Underneath this front, though, he could see she was scared. Jayne wasn't helping none.

"Your name's Clara, right?" Mal asked, shifting awkwardly. Most of the crew, Wash, Simon, River, and Book were not present, was gathered in the cargo bay, looking to him to make a decision on what to do with the girl. Mal wasn't seeing any especially bright options.

"Yeah," she said, her accent heavy. Alliance. She seemed like she was going to finish that thought with something witty that'd put Mal in a deeper hole than he was already in so he decided it'd be best to ask another question before she got the chance.

"You got anyone who's gonna be lookin' for you?"

She pursed her lips and lifted her chin to glare at him. Girl only came about to his shoulders, wasn't the threatening type either. Not like Zoe; this girl looked like she'd be inclined to break if she got into a fight. Yup, definitely Alliance.

"The Doctor. You met him. He'll come for me, and when he does..."

Despite the circumstances, Mal couldn't help but snort and the snort gave way to a bout of chuckling. "That fool backat the bar? Sorry to break it to you, pretty lady, but if that's all who's coming for you, you're not going anywhere. Sure, Alliance'll be after you, but they'll only go so long. You're not that important to them. Not unless there's something about you we don't know. What are you anyways?"

Clara bit her lip and glanced down at her feet. "A nanny," she muttered.

Mal looked up at the platform above and sighed heavily. Looked like she'd be staying awhile.

"And a companion," she added, a bit more brightly.

That snapped Mal to attention. "A what? Oh, ladida..." He turned and reached for the intercom, pressing in a white button that channeled his voice to Wash. "Step on it. Girl's a nanny that moonlights as a companion. We're gonna have Alliance on our tail as soon as they find out who she is."

Wash's voice crackled over the intercom. "_Da Shiong La Se La Ch'wohn Tian..._ Mal, a bit of warning would be nice for next time."

"You don't need to mock me," said Clara. Mal turned to find the girl directly under his chin, craning her head back and glaring at him.

"Trust me,_ Xiao_ _shunu,_" he said, taking a step away from the feisty girl, "We really just want you out of our way. This is pretty inconveniencing to us as well. Long as you're with us, we've got trouble, and Lord knows we've got enough of that as it is."

Shoes clacked along the metal grate flooring, the sound growing nearer and nearer. Mal hoped it wasn't Inara. She wouldn't like this once she found out, and she would find out. Might as well enjoy the relative peace 'till she found out. The doors that led down to the infirmary opened and the Shepherd appeared, one eyebrow raised.

"Captain, was that you? Have I finally managed to convince you of God's good will?"

Mal gave a mental sigh of relief. "No such thing, Shepherd. You might as well accept that I'm a lost cause."

Book lifted his head heavenward, no doubt lifting up some sort of prayer for Mal's soul. Preacher never would give up. "Here's to hoping," he said. Book caught sight of Clara and, at that moment, Mal would have much preferred to face Inara. The preacher held out a hand to the girl. "What has he done to you, child?" He glanced accusingly at Mal, who lifted his hands in a hopeless gesture.

"I didn't do anything to her!" he protested. "Girl's fine."

Clara moved over towards Book. "Yeah, y'know, it's no fun visiting a new planet 'till you've gotten a gun shoved up to your head and get pulled along to a space ship."

The preacher glared darkly at Mal and his stomach flopped. It was going to be Saffron all over again.

"I ain't done nothing, preacher. Jayne here was suggesting all sorts of infernal things, but..." Mal looked over Book's shoulder to where Jayne was slinking out of the cargo bay. The man gave the captain a shrug and tugged his hat further down on his head. He slipped into the hall and Mal made a mental note to get him back later. Ain't right to throw your captain under the bus like that.

Another entry saved Mal's hide. The girl who he normally liked to see the least silently glided into the room, glancing around the bay like she was lost. River knew the ship like the back of her hand, possibly even better than Mal did, and that was saying something, still though, whenever she was going anywhere, you'd swear she'd gotten herself all mixed up.

Her dark hair hung tangled over a light blue cotton dress that seemed to swallow her thin frame. Girl was too skinny. She didn't properly fit any of her clothes. River had shoes; Mal knew she had shoes because he'd had Simon buy her a pair nearly every stop to get her from walking round the ship barefoot. At first Mal had accused Simon of not doing as ordered, but, one day they'd found several shoes stored in the back of the kitchen cupboards. Only time River wore shoes was when she got off the ship, and that wasn't often. Too much of a hassle to keep an eye on. She always needed a babysitter and Mal couldn't always spare the help.

She grinned at Book, her face lighting up at the sight of the preacher. Despite their differences on certain fields, River had taken quite the liking to the man. She looked confused when she saw Clara, but then again, River looked confused a lot.

"Why'd you bring her?" she whispered, not taking her eyes off Clara. "She's not right... She's wrong. Doesn't belong. Doesn't fit. Doesn't compute. Doesn't make sense. Impossible, impossible, impossible..."

Book stepped away from Clara and put both hands on River's pale arms. "River, settle-"

"No!" River exclaimed. The suddenness of her outburst took Mal by surprise and he moved forward to help the preacher, who held the girl firm with strength a Shepherd would not normally possess. "She's not right!" River screamed, her hair falling in her face. "Too many times. She keeps dying... What is she doing here? Why did you bring her?"

"Someone get Simon," Mal grumbled, grabbing River from behind. Kaylee ran off to go find the young doctor.

River laughed deliriously. "Impossible girl. She's the impossible girl."

Clara drew herself up to her full height, which was, admittedly, not very tall. "Why do you call me that? Why am I the impossible girl?"

"Don't take it personal-like," Mal said. "Girl's crazy. Says a lot of crazy things."

"Crazy," River repeated, her voice proving Mal's point.

"Maybe she's crazy, but I've been called that before, I know I have. I don't remember who said it, but someone did. Why am I impossible?"

River broke out in a ridiculous smile. "You die too much."

A needle pressed into River's neck and the girl sank limply in Mal's arms.


	4. Chapter 4

_**In which it has been far too long since the last update, for which I apologize profusely. Please don't turn me in to the**_**_ Alliance._**

* * *

The Doctor had never much enjoyed guns, nor had he ever especially agreed with the people who wielded them. He had been a soldier, yes, but there was something about seeing the weapons that twisted his stomach, nearly making him sick. He could save the humans from aliens, give him a Dalek any day of the week, but when it came to the human race destroying itself... The fact that they were so set upon continuing in this primitive pattern of their own destruction destroyed him. However, at this exact moment, the Doctor was not present. This was not "the man who helps people", the gentle healer of calamities, the protector of the human race. This was the Oncoming Storm. Someone had stolen someone that he cared about, and that wasn't going to go unnoticed by him.

Truth be told, he could tell that he made the Alliance soldiers uneasy. He caught the nervous glances from the younger recruits. Even the more seasoned officers didn't seem to know what to do with him. It didn't matter. If they tried to control him, they would just slow him down. It was better this way, better for Clara.

He punched a couple of buttons and glanced up at the massive screen above his head. Would it have killed them to make it a bit smaller? He had to step back several paces just to get a clear view of the screen.

The young lieutenant, that Matthew fellow who he'd met earlier seemed unfazed by the Doctor. More in awe than anything else. He remained directly behind the Doctor, so that the Time Lord kept tripping over the man's toes. Matthew seemed quite shocked that he knew how to work the computer system on the Alliance vessel. Then again, all the officers were probably wondering that. The Doctor wasn't entirely sure how long he could avoid the question.

A mechanical whir sounded from the machine, then a succession of beeping sounds. He'd managed to lock onto all Fireflies in the surrounding area. The perimeter of the search stretched far beyond the normal capacities of the machine. He had punched in code that wouldn't be invented for another forty years, no doubt upsetting temporal laws. Then again, Jack Harkness upset the temporal laws with his existence, as did Clara, and even himself. Some rules were made to be broken.

If only he had been able to get access to the TARDIS' computers, he could have done this same task in only a fraction of the time. Of course, though, he'd also have to explain the bigger on the inside technology, the Alliance would want to keep it, and after he left he'd be finding the occasional soldier who'd gotten lost in the hallways.

"There. I've set it to locate all Firefly ships within range." One of the people, a balding man with gray hair opened his mouth to ask a question. Recognizing him as one of the people he'd kicked out of the computer chairs initially, he decided the best course of action would be to dismiss the question and ignore all ones to follow. "It's an extremely difficult process you couldn't begin to understand. Moving on..." He pointed to three blips on the screen. "One of these has got to be the ship that has Clara and those smugglers of yours. We find out which one and-"

"Those ships are all going in different directions!" said a man in the back. He appeared to be high-ranking. A General, perhaps?

The Doctor shifted awkwardly, rocking on the heels of his feet. "Yes. That does pose a problem. Well..."

Matthew was so close to the screen his breath was begining to fog on the monitor. The Doctor stepped protectively in front of the computer, nervous the lieutenant might accidentally mess something up.

The man took a step back. "Sorry. It's just..."

"It's just what?" asked the Doctor.

"One of those little blips disappeared."

The Doctor pursed his lips together tightly, walked over to a pillar and promptly began banging his head upon it.

"What is it?" asked the man, the one who looked like a general.

"The blip," he said. "The blip that disappeared."

"What about it? One less ship to check. Let's move on and-"

"No!" the Doctor cried, throwing his hands in the air. "You all never get it. You can be so thick sometimes. That blip, the one that disappeared, that one you didn't think was important? That's them. They're masking their signal. You all are just too idiotic to see what's right in front of your faces!"

The man looked shocked, dumbstruck even. Perhaps people didn't talk that way to Alliance generals. The Doctor didn't care. Still, at the look on the man's face, he sobered. He couldn't help it. Only human, as the saying went. So much potential, but they weren't the Time Lords. Not that that was a bad thing, but sometimes the Doctor felt he had a bit of trouble remembering that fact.

Staring at the floor, he waved a hand at the monitor. "Plot a course for the last area that vessel was before it blinked off the monitor. Maybe... Maybe we can catch them in time."

With that, he shoved his thumbs into the pocket of his waistcoat and walked slowly out of the room.

The young lieutenant, Matthew Ryan, had followed him out. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder and sighed.

"Why are you following me?"

Matthew shrugged. "Because you've lost someone and you're clever. That doesn't make for a particularly safe combination."

The Doctor felt an involuntary tug at the corner of his lips. "I'm not a particularly safe man."

A pause. "You're not Alliance, are you?"

The Doctor turned. "Even if I wasn't, do you think that you all, with your big ship and big guns and big men... Do you thing you could stop me?"

"No."

"And why not?"

Matthew shrugged. "You don't have much left to lose."

"Correct. Which means I am dangerous. Very dangerous." He walked closer, until he stood at about eye level with the man. "So do yourself a favor and stay away."

He turned again and began walking down the hall once more.

"Where are you going?" Matthew was behind him again. The man was like a stray dog.

"To get my ship," the Doctor grumbled.

"What ship?"

The Doctor gave the man a sidelong glance. "Aren't you going to try to stop me?"

Another shrug. "I think you've already made it pretty clear that we can't stop you."

"Do you want to come with me?" The Doctor pointed his screwdriver at the door. The end flashed green and gave a slight whirring noise. He wasn't entirely sure why he was inviting the man. It was lunacy, idiocy even. Then again, those two were among his most notable traits.

"How are you planning on getting off the ship? They aren't exactly going to just open the door and let you walk out."

The Doctor grinned. They were about to get to the good bit. He walked eagerly up to the TArdis and unlocked the doors he turned around and leaned against them.

"Are you ready to see something cool?" He opened the doors and slipped inside, allowing the doors to hang open, filling the darker light of the room outside with a narrow stretch of glowing turquoise.

Matthew stepped inside the TARDIS and the doors shut behind him. "It's..."

"Bigger on the inside, I know. This is the TARDIS. She's my ship and she's also how I'm getting out of here. Last chance to turn back," he said, cranking a lever.

"I could act as liason, I guess..."

Though Matthew seemed to be talking to the ceiling of the TARDIS, the Doctor took this for an agreement to stay. With the push of a few buttons, the TARDIS made her beautiful wheezing noise and allowed him to get away. Away from the hindrances, and toward Clara. Or so he hoped.

* * *

Clara and Mal sat in the galley, awkwardly staring at each other while Mal made attempts at small talk. Jayne was off in the hall, patrolling or some such. As if Mal would need help with the Alliance girl. She was half his size and wearing heals; hardly a fair fight. Still, if River thought she was important, then she might be a force to be reckoned with. Nah, he didn't see it. The girl might be a companion, but she was still a little twig of a thing. River was just being crazy again. All the same, Clara made Mal just the slightest bit uneasy.

It was similar to the uneasy he felt with River, but at the same time, completely different. It was as though something was off about the girl, even though she seemed to be every bit your average, law-abiding, Alliance citizen.

"So..." he said, running a hand through his hair before returning it to the large mug of coffee that sat steaming on the table before him. "You're a nanny. Who do you... you know, nanny." Smooth. That was Malcolm Reynolds alright.

Clara glared at him suspiciously. "Two kids," she answered. "Angela and-" she cut herself off, as if deciding she didn't want to tell him that bit of information. What did she think he was? A kidnapper? Oh, wait.

Mal rested his hands on the table and leaned back in his chair, giving a long sigh. "You know we don't plan on hurting you, don't you? Well, that's 'xcepting Jayne, of course, but don't take it personal-like. Jayne wants to hurt everyone."

"That's nice," she said. There was that lilting voice again.

"Your accent," he said, "Where's it from?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What's it to you?"

Mal shrugged. "Curious is all."

"Blackpool," she said, taking a sip from her drink.

Mal's brow furrowed, trying to place the name. When he did, his eyebrows shot up. "Wa kào! You've got to be kidding me, little lady," he inserted a nervous chuckle into the conversation, "Earth got used up a long time ago. Blackpool's in the United Nations right? Back on Earth-That-Was?"

"United _Kingdom,_" Clara corrected, as if she expected Mal to know the difference. "And what d'you mean 'Earth-That-Was'? Where's Earth now? Did we get blown up? Asteroid or something?"

"Nǐ méi kāiwánxiào. Zhè bù kěnéng shì zhēnshí de..." Mal muttered under his breath. "Are you serious? How can you be a companion and not know what happened to Earth-That-Was? Don't they give you a test or something?"

"Companion?" Mal blanched as Inara's calm voice filled the room. The soft pad of her silk slippers on the floor announced her presence in the galley. "I thought you referred to us as whores, Mal."

Mal shifted uneasily in his seat.

"And just an hour ago, Shepherd tells me he heard you mentioning the Lord. It would seem as though many unusual things have been happening on board Serenity."

Mal swallowed. "Well, what can I say? Nothing like a bunch of Alliance chasing you out of a bar to wake you up."

"You must have been frightened," said Inara gently.

Mal raised an eyebrow. "No. Alliance don't scare me. Just a bit surprised is all."

"I was talking to the girl, Mal."

"I'm fine," said Clara. "Bit ruffled. What you'd expect from having a gun shoved into your head. But, oh well, surprise trip, see the sights, free spaceship ride and all that."

Inara smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. May I ask your name?"

"Clara. Clara Oswald."

Mal didn't understand how Inara did it. It was part of her training, he knew that much, but the way she could get anyone to talk was amazing. Slightly unnerving, to be sure, but amazing all the same.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Clara. The Shepherd informed me that you're a companion. Might I ask where you studied?"

Clara looked confused. She certainly didn't have Inara's poise. Looking at the two women now, next to each other, Mal was beginning to have his doubts on whether or not Clara was indeed a companion.

"Um, I didn't study?" The statement was phrased more as a question. If the girl hadn't studied, then how could she be a companion? Inara clearly had noticed the same thing, but knowing her, she'd remain as tactful as ever.

"I see. Then how did you come to be employed?"

"It's sort of an arrangement. He saved my life, I saved his, a monstrosity of a computer, and then a magical box. He picks me up once a week."

Inara looked confused. It was quite the rare occasion that Mal got to see Inara confused, and he really was enjoying it quite a bit.

Hesitantly, she continued with her questions. "Not to be rude, but what are you paid for this... arrangement?"

Clara smirked. "Paid? Seeing it all is enough."

Mal half-spluttered, half- choked on his coffee.

Inara gave a slight smile. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N- **__**I was away on vacation and didn't update when I should have. Has it been nearly a month already? I have, however, plotted both this story and my NaNo novel, and I've got a surprise coming further along in this story that I think is going to be super fun. Now, back to the story...**_

"So you're not a whore?"

Clara gave an indignant sounding sniff, a sentiment echoed by Inara in a dark glare. Mal just shrugged, the ladies could be just as angry as they liked with him, he didn't care none.

"Why'd you tell us you were a companion?" Mal said, his tone just a tiny bit whiny. "I had Wash step up the speed and everything. Kaylee's not gonna be happy when she finds out just how much fuel we wasted because of a stupid piece of Alliance _goushi._"

"I'm not Alliance!" the girl protested. Mal's eyebrows snapped together. Even Inara seemed a little surprised in her own quiet way. The girl sucked in a breath, she obviously hadn't planned on saying that. But why not? If she wasn't Alliance then she didn't have anything to fear from a ship of Independents. Was it Inara that the girl was afraid of? A companion held a lot of weight in Alliance government. Still didn't make sense though. Mal decided to tread carefully.

"If you aren't Alliance," he said slowly, "then what are you? Are you an Independent? You don't really look like a Browncoat to me. To me, you look Alliance."

"I'm not Alliance." The girl looked down at her shoes. "I'm not really a Browncoat either, though."

Mal rose to his feet and glared at her. "So you're on of _them_, eh? I'd rather you were Alliance instead of being some _chun nuòfu. _Not taking a side while good men fought and died. You better hope that Zoe doesn't find out what you are or she'll skin you alive. I might just help her."

The coward wasn't concerned with anything but saving her own skin. No wonder she'd told them she was a companion. If she didn't stay out of his way, he might have to do something a mite unpleasant. If the girl got in his way, not even the Shepherd and all his preaching would be able to save her. He looped his thumbs underneath his gun belt, a clear warning, then marched out the door.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, but somehow he managed to end up at the engine room. Perhaps even his subconscious knew that he needed a little cheering up. The smell of oil and machinery permeated even from the other side of the door. He breathed in the familiar scent and entered the room.

"Where are you, Kaylee?" Mal called.

He knelt down and looked under the main engine, expecting the mechanic to peak out with a greasy face and a bright smile. But she wasn't there. By all respects, the engine room seemed empty, but there was still a sense of unease that covered him. in one corner of the room, there was a tall object covered by a sheet. It was about four feet wide, four feet long, and a bit taller than he was. Mal knew one thing for sure about it. It was _not_ supposed to be there.

"Kaylee," Mal called again.

He fingered his gun automatically and tugged at the sheet. It fell away to reveal a blue box, perhaps a storage crate of some sort, with the words "Police Box" inscribed upon it.

"What in the 'verse..." he muttered. He felt for the handle. Locked. How'd the thing get on board? Kaylee couldn't lift it herself. Only one Mal could think of other than himself was Jayne, and Jayne wasn't really the helping type.

The back of his neck crawled and he brought up his gun, moving forward slowly. "Who's there? Kaylee? Where are you? Kaylee, answer me. That's an order."

"Cap'n, help!" Kaylee.

He whirled around, turning on his heel to see Clara's friend and an Alliance guard with Kaylee in front of them. The Alliance fellow had a gun to her head. Mal's eyes went wide briefly, but he forced himself to be calm. He couldn't let Kaylee see him like that.

"Don't worry, little Kaylee," said Mal, his gaze locked on the Doctor, clearly the one calling the shots. "I'm not gonna let 'em do anything to you. It's hard to find decent mechanics these days."

Kaylee forced a smile. "Decent, Cap'n?"

Mal swallowed and fought the urge to put a slug through the Doctor's head. "Maybe a bit more'n decent."

"I'm not scared," she said. "You know that."

The Doctor wouldn't meet Mal's eyes. Was he ashamed? He should be. Little Kaylee didn't do nothing to him. Little Kaylee with her bright eyes and broad smile, her face covered with engine grease... Little Kaylee with a gun to her head.

"I know that, Kaylee. The only person here who needs to be scared is these here Alliance fellows. Y'see, if either of them even scrape your pretty little head, I'm gonna put a bullet in each of theirs, wrap 'em up with bows and send 'em back to the Alliance."

The man holding the gun didn't flinch. The Doctor, however, glanced up and finally spoke.

"I'm here for Clara."

Mal gave a nod toward Kaylee. "Put my mechanic down, then we'll talk."

The Doctor took a step forward, either unfazed by the gun or doubting that Mal would use it. "You give Clara back, or, I promise you, you'll never see this girl again."

Mal aimed the gun at the Doctor's chest. "You're treading on some mighty thin ice, Doctor. I suggest you do exactly what I say or-"

"Or what?" The Doctor's tone changed in an instant, going from calm to furious. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Malcolm Reynolds." He moved closer and closer until he was merely a couple feet away. "You can't kill me." Each word was clearly defined. He meant what he said.

"I sure can gorram try." Mal's gun went off and the Doctor fell to the floor.

* * *

Pain shot through his chest, but he could feel that the slug hadn't struck any important organs. Mal stepped over his body and moved toward Matthew, gun raised.

"Drop the gun," said the captain, cocking his weapon. "Now."

Matthew hesitated a moment, then dropped the weapon. The girl they'd caught in the engine room marched over to Mal and grabbed his arm.

"Thank you kindly, Cap'n. I knew you'd come and rescue me." A smile glowed on her face.

Mal grunted. "I got blood all over the room."

The Doctor rolled onto his stomach, then pushed himself up with one arm, clutching his chest with the other. He rose slowly to his feet, struggled to regain his balance, then allowed regeneration energy to flow through his veins. His hand glowed golden for a moment and every jaw in the room dropped. He grimaced as he felt his chest being knit back together. Finally, as he felt the wound completely heal, he dropped his arm. An ugly red bloodstain covered the front of his shirt, but that was all that was left of the wound.

Malcolm Reynolds swallowed hard as the Doctor slowly moved towards him. He stopped, again, right in front of the captain.

He grit his teeth and glared at the man. "Where is Clara?"


End file.
